


What rich desire unlocks its door

by ivanolix



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Canon - TV, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hate Sex, Het, Porn, Porn Battle, Rough Sex, Season/Series 01, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-21
Updated: 2011-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivanolix/pseuds/ivanolix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not even Darken Rahl can control Kahlan in the Con Dar</p>
            </blockquote>





	What rich desire unlocks its door

**Author's Note:**

> A slight Conversion AU written for the [](http://lots-pornbattle.livejournal.com/profile)[**lots_pornbattle**](http://lots-pornbattle.livejournal.com/)  for the prompts "agiel kiss", "lust", and "I want to fuck you like an animal".

He saw her take down the Mord'Sith, watched the powerful woman crumple as if there was nothing under that leather but air. He didn't know her name, he doesn't care that she died, he just watched as Kahlan's eyes flooded black with the Con Dar. His trousers are too tight.

Kahlan's hand looked like a claw around the Mord'Sith's neck. When it comes for his own—he's scanned all the exits, an escape attempt would be futile as well as undignified—he thinks it looks more like a lover's caress. Maybe it's just the lust talking. Maybe Darken Rahl, with nothing now to lose, doesn't care if it is.

His skull and spine crack against the wall when she throws him against it, Confessor magic ripping through his being like a whip. He hisses at the tingle of it, almost tasting the tang of blood in his mouth, but he never breaks his gaze from hers. "Kahlan Amnell," he spits at her, voice taut as she squeezes the air from his throat.

"Why aren't you confessed?" she demands, confused and enraged. The bloody red hue of her eyes makes her a war goddess. She is beyond perfection, and worthy of the time he spent tracking her down.

Darken can't help but grin, arrogant and careless. Adrenaline courses through him. "My wizard's skills with potions overpowered your gift, Mother Confessor."

She grips his throat tighter. "Your body is still mortal," she says in a wildcat's growl.

Oh, it's a fact he knows all too well. But he doesn't care. She's taking what she wants, and so will he. Before she can guess what he's about to do, he drops one of the agiels and slides his free hand to the back of her neck. The other agiel is at her chin before she can draw a breath, and he crushes their lips together in a searing rush of pain.

Kahlan gasps in outrage and shock, and her nails dig into his neck as she squeezes the life out of him. He sees stars. He doesn't break the kiss.

She could snap his neck, and he fully expects it, but instead she pushes his head back against the wall and bites his lip hard. Darken sucks in a quick breath, the agiel pulsing to him through their joined skin. Then, as she twists her fingers in his hair and catches another breath, he grins to himself in heady irrational lust and claims her mouth with his tongue.

She's pure fury, her lithe figure matching his just through the force of will she brings. Biting, scratching, penetrating, wrestling, they fight for dominance in a kiss where lust entwines completely with pain. He has the agiel, she has the upper hand, and yet deep down they are doing nothing more than sharing a secret thrill.

Darken can taste blood on her lips—his blood. She tears at his robe, exposing him like she's been exposed, because she's a Confessor in Con Dar who accepts no authority higher than herself. He begs to differ, and he's not giving in. The taste of blood hardly turns him off.

When she's bared his torso and pressed him to the cold stone wall, teeth and tongue on his neck as she tastes his salty skin, her nailsmarking his chest, the lust makes him release a moan and forget himself for a moment. How he's longed to find a woman whose strength matches his. Where battle becomes a game. He can take and give in the same breath with Kahlan Amnell, even if she cannot grasp onto his soul. His body shivers in anticipation.

She's distracted by the moan, and he can feel her pulse quicken, and he's grinning again because he wants her pure lust. This Confessor is no statue of ice, she's Kahlan Amnell of the Con Dar of legend, and they're locked in an embrace of recklessness. Using his thigh as leverage, Darken spins them around, making it _her_ back that hits the wall as he reaches for the hem of her undergarment. She growls, biting his neck, but arches when his fingers swiftly find what he's looking for beneath the skirt.

Panting for breath already, his breath hitches on feeling her essence hot and wet on his fingers, the evidence of her lust merely fuel to the raging bonfire they're in the middle of. Against all wisdom she hikes her leg around his hip and he thrusts his fingers into her.

"Rahl!" she snaps, back arching and nails digging into his shoulders. It's a warning as much as it's an automatic sound.

"The Mother Confessor can't keep silent?" he mocks, wishing he could see the rage mingle with unbound passion in her eyes. He rocks his fingers into her, deeply, feeling her tight core velvety hot around his fingers. Creator forgive him he's nothing more than a man and he's hard and aching to have more than his fingers inside her.

"Damn you," she rages, even when she careens and clenches welcomingly around him. Con Dar may be the blood rage, but blood is what fuels desire too and he can feel that she's liquid with it. She wants. She needs. She will have.

Richard, his helpless brother, is somewhere out of the way watching in frozen shock, jaw open. Neither of them pay attention to the other man. Kahlan overtakes him, again, and Darken doesn't care if he let her this time or not as they crash against the table and her garment shifts up around her hips. "Bastard," she hisses, wrenching his trousers open without any care for what delicate parts are a hairsbreadth from her sharp nails.

"Whore," he taunts, just to see the look in her eyes. He pulls her hips to his, standing between her legs as she's propped on the table.

"Fool," she says with a wicked glitter in her blood-red eyes. This time she nearly squeezes the life out of something he values as much as his neck, and he chokes, dropping the last agiel in the maddening pain that grips him. When she gives him a rough stroke, it's still too much and he bucks, grunting at the agony that's more potent than any agiel. "Rahl the fool," she says again, with a harsh mad laugh, releasing him.

He knows what that laugh means. She's caught onto the game, somehow, in the midst of this unearthly magic. Suddenly the lust overcomes everything else and he stops her mouth with a hot kiss, closing the last little distance. A shift and a thrust, and he's fully sheathed in her as well.

It's a magic of its own, the raw pleasure of their joining, shooting up his spine as he clasps her hips to his. She bucks against him with a moan that vibrates through his lips, and he holds onto her and thrusts as his tongue explores her mouth. It's a duel without any winner, a dance without a lead, and she's riding him as much as he's riding her, her core tight around his cock. The table rattles under them as they need to break the kiss for air but don't stop the angry needy fucking for even a moment.

Pain is fully defeated by pleasure. Still locked in the Con Dar, Kahlan screams and throws her head back and comes around him like a crack of thunder. The sensation is indescribable, even to a man who knows just what power lies in a well chosen word. A few more thrusts and he can grip her hips possessively, losing himself inside her, but it's neither defeat nor victory when they're both gasping for breath, world spinning with utter satisfaction.

He hasn't sated animal lust in too long. She never has before. There's still anger and heat between them, boiling like stormclouds, and when he meets her dark eyes there's hardly either love or attraction in them. That wasn't what they were after.

Kahlan licks the smear of blood from her lip with a tiny shiver that is anything but fear, the dark swirl in her eyes starting to fade into midnight blue. Darken Rahl's eyes trace her body up and down one last time, his conqueror and prize, as he swiftly laces up his trousers. The rage is leaving her, and he has no energy for any himself. The only energy he has will be enough to get him out of Giller's laboratory and back to his men.

Perfect.

It's not a smirk of victory, just an acknowledgment of a worthy nemesis, when he scoops up the fallen agiel and drags his eyes from her. He leaves like a thief in the night, still looking like the Lord Rahl, before her Con Dar is fully dissipated.


End file.
